Tuneless Song
by TrinityC
Summary: Galahad has been singing Vanora's song off-key for four days and nights. Slash fairly heavily implied (Gawain-Galahad)


**Author's Note:** Another birthday fic for Lindsey on 17 November 2004, in very very late response to a challenge she issued on her Livejournal in September 2004: _Galahad/Gawain: You're trying to break me down with your tuneless song/that kept me up all night. from Happy by The Frames_  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong (in this incarnation) to Jerry Bruckheimer and Co.

**Tuneless Song**

"We will go home, we will go home..."

Gawain gritted his teeth. Galahad had been singing that song constantly for four days and nights now. He had even begun singing it in his sleep. He would start out humming it, but soon enough he would begin to sing, just quietly enough for it to appear as if he didn't realise he was doing it. Gawain, however, knew better. Galahad was paying him back for volunteering him for this wretched mission. It was no coincidence that he seemed to emphasise the word 'home', just slightly, not so you'd notice unless you knew that he was in a mood over something. And it was definitely no coincidence that for the last four days and nights he had consistently been singing just the tiniest bit off-key.

It was wearing Gawain down, just as Galahad intended. Any day now he would give in and apologise, even though he still maintained he had done the right thing. Anything to stop that bloody singing.

There was no point in explaining to Galahad, no point in telling him that Gawain had volunteered him to save them all from hours of ranting culminating in Galahad's sulky agreement that perhaps he could see his way to coming with them after all. Galahad hated it that they knew him so well; he liked to think that he was unpredictable, but they all knew that he was anything but. Gawain, particularly, could usually predict almost every reaction; fifteen years of being all but inseparable did tend to do that for you.

"We will go home, across the mountains..."

And Gawain's patience snapped.

"All right. All right, all right, all right. Galahad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I spoke for you, I'm sorry I made you come along on this wretched mission instead of letting you kick your heels back at the fort until we got back. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just stop singing. Please?"

Galahad turned, a tiny, confused frown knitting his brow. "I'm sorry, Gawain. Was I singing?" His tone radiated innocence and guile in equal measure, and Gawain had to bite back his first response. Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten and then spoke.

"Yes, Galahad, you were singing. If you can call it that. And I'm sorry. I did it for everyone's good, all right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. We're all as angry as you, but the only thing that wouldn't have made it worse was if we all agreed quietly. And you haven't got a quiet bone in your body, not when you're angry."

If he hadn't been sulking, Galahad would probably have smirked at that last. As it was, he scowled and picked at his horse's bridle, resolutely not looking at Gawain. "I still don't understand what gives you the right to speak for me. It was my decision to make, Gawain, mine alone."

"I know, Galahad. I know, and I'm sorry. But you weren't in a state to make it, and Arthur needed your answer then, not in two hours' time when you'd calmed down."

Galahad made a sound that could only be described as a grunt. "What if my decision was to stay?"

Gawain shrugged. "It wouldn't have been. You've never been one to shirk your duty, particularly if it's a duty to us and to Arthur. Sod Rome. Dagonet said it - we are doing this for Arthur, not for Rome."

Galahad tried to say that it made no difference, but found that he couldn't. Young, petulant and sulky he might be, but he was honest to a fault and he could not deny his loyalty to Arthur, even though he hated all that Arthur stood for, all that his orders had made Galahad do. It wasn't Arthur's fault, not really; he was as trapped as his knights. Still, it rather stung his pride to admit that Gawain was right.

They rode in silence for a while, no singing to punctuate the quietness; gradually the tension between them drained away as Galahad let go of his grievance and steered his horse a little closer to Gawain's.

"'Msorry," he mumbled, and Gawain looked over at him.

"All right," he said, wisely not pressing the point, and reached a hand over to squeeze Galahad's knee. "Just - no more singing, all right? Please?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Galahad pouted. "I'm a _good_ singer." Gawain raised one eyebrow, and at last Galahad laughed. "Oh, all right then. No more singing off-key. I promise."

"Good," said Gawain, with a smile that promised untold things once they gained their freedom. 


End file.
